On the death of the Regent, all the letters which Louis received from France urged his immediate return. The Christians of Syria gave the King the same advice. 'The King,' they said, 'has done everything for us that he can do here; he will now serve us much better if he sends us help from France.' Louis decided on his departure, and embarked at Acre on the 24th of April, 1254. 'He told me that it was the same day of the month as that on which he was born,' says Joinville, 'and I told him he might well say that he had been born again now that he had escaped from that land of peril.'

Thirteen vessels, large and small, composed the King's fleet. As they drew near the isle of Cyprus, the King's ship struck on a sandbank in the night, and seemed in danger of becoming a wreck. The terror of those on board was very great. Queen Margaret was there with the three young children to whom she had given birth in the East. The nurses went to her and said: "Madame, what shall we do with your children? Shall we wake them and take them up?" The Queen, despairing of life in this world either for herself or her children, said: "You will not wake them nor take them up; you will let them go to God in their sleep." The King was entreated to leave the ship and go on board another; he summoned the master-mariners, and said, "Suppose the vessel was yours, and was laden with merchandise; I ask you, upon your honour, if you would abandon it?" And they all answered No, because they would rather run the risk of being drowned than pay 4,000 livres or more for a new ship. "Then why do you advise me to leave the ship?" "Because," they answered, "the stakes are not equal; for no amount of gold or silver can equal the worth of your life, nor of the lives of your wife and children who are on board, and for that reason we urge you not to put yourself and them in danger." Then the King said: "Sirs, I have heard your opinion, and that of my own people, and now in my turn I will give you mine, which is this. If I abandon this ship, there are five hundred persons who will remain in the isle of Cyprus for fear of bodily peril (for there is not one of them who does not love his life as well as I love mine), and who, peradventure, will never return to their own land. Therefore I prefer to place myself, my wife, and my children in the hands of God rather than cause so great an injury to so many persons as are on board."'

I do not think that history affords any other example of a king so mindful of the fate and interests of strangers in the midst of such great danger to him and his. However, the royal vessel got off the shoal, and went on its way; on the 8th of July, after sailing for ten weeks more, the King and all his fleet reached the port of Hyères in Provence, which then belonged to the Empire and not to France. For two days Louis refused to disembark, as he was most anxious on his return to set foot for the first time on the soil of his own land at Aiguesmortes, from whence he had set out six years previously. But at length he yielded to the entreaties of the Queen and of all those with him, landed at Hyères, journeyed slowly through France, and arrived at Vincennes on the 5th of September, 1254. On Sunday, the 6th, he went to St. Denis to thank God for having protected him during his long pilgrimage, and on the following day he made his royal entry into Paris. 'The burgesses and all others in the city went to meet him, decked and dressed in their best, each one according to his means. Other cities had received their king with delight, but Paris showed greater joy than any. For many days there were bonfires, with dances and other public entertainments, which however were put an end to sooner than the people desired; for St. Louis was much troubled at the great expense, the dances, and the frivolities in which they were indulging, and so he went away to Vincennes, in order to put a stop to the whole thing.' [Footnote 36]

[Footnote 36: Joinville, chap. cxxi.—cxxiii.; Bouquet's 'Recueil des Historiens des Gaules et de la France,' vol. xx. p. 70; Tillemont, vol. iv. pp. 31-45.]

I find in Joinville an anecdote relating to just this period of the King's life which is too characteristic to be passed over in silence.

'Whilst the King was staying at Hyères,' he says, 'in order to procure horses to take him into France, the Abbot of Cluny made him a present of two palfreys which were worth quite 500 livres, one for himself and the other for the Queen. When the abbot had made this present, he said: "Sire, I will come to-morrow to speak of things which concern me." On the morrow the abbot returned; the King listened very attentively, and for a very long time. When the abbot had taken leave, I went to the King and said: "Sire, if you will allow me, I wish to ask you whether you have not listened more graciously to the Abbot of Cluny because he gave you those two palfreys yesterday?" The King reflected for some time, and then said, "Yes, truly." "Sire," I said, "do you know why I put this question to you?" "Why?" he asked me. "Because," I answered, "I warn you and advise you to forbid your sworn councillors, when you come to France, to take anything from those who have to plead before them, for rest assured that, if they receive anything, they will listen more patiently and attentively to those who give, as you have done to the Abbot of Cluny." Then the King summoned his council, and repeated what I had said, and they told him I had given him good advice.'

It was in this frame of mind—humble, conscientious, free from egotism, with ready sympathies, and animated not only by reverence for truth and justice, but by love for them—that Louis returned to France, and resumed the government of his kingdom after an absence of six years, during which his efforts on behalf of Christianity had been as heroic as they were unavailing. Those who were nearest to him, and knew him best, were astonished not only at what he had remained, but also at what he had become during his long and severe trial.

'When happily the King had returned to France, with what piety he conducted himself towards God, with what justice towards his subjects, how compassionately towards the afflicted, with what humility in all that concerned himself, and how zealously he endeavoured, according to his strength, to grow in grace,—these things can be attested by those who watched his life closely, and knew how sensitive was his conscience. Persons of most intelligence and discernment think that as gold is more precious than silver, so the life and conduct of the King, after his return from the Holy Land, were devout and regenerate, and of higher excellence than his old manner of life, although even in his youth he was always good and pure, and worthy of great esteem.'

Thus speaks Geoffrey of Beaulieu, the King's confessor, in a brief and simple chronicle—the brevity, in fact, almost amounting to dryness, but the work of a man who was well acquainted with his subject. [Footnote 37]